Metamorphose
by Cee5
Summary: Molly has inherited her father's ability to change, making her a metamorphmagus. But this inheritance comes with a mutation that has made Molly's life a little harder: her emotions show in the colour of her hair and skin


When Molly was three months old her parents discovered with delight that the metamorphmagus gene of her father had been passed on. They watched with amazement as Molly turned her hair from blue to yellow in a matter of seconds, the time it took for her to be placed on the crib crying, and lifted up into her mother's arms again. They soon realised, however, that what seemed like a simple genetic inheritance was in fact an adaptation, an unbelievable mutation.

Molly was not an ordinary metamorphmagus; she could, with effort and concentration, change her aspect to suit her taste, but there was something of inevitable in her condition: Molly's morphing state was sometimes continued and always unavoidable. The truth was that her hair and skin changed according to her emotions and not only to her demands.

Molly was still a child when her parents came to realise this, and it didn't make a difference then. But when she started to grow up and wished to conceal her emotions, it proved to be more of a challenge and an annoyance, an obstacle in her life, than a gift.

Without warning her hair would turn dark red, even when her words said she was not angry and blue when she tried to reassure everyone that it didn't really matter, that she was not upset. It was a big inconvenience.

Her skin would change colour too, but thankfully in a smaller proportion. A few spots here and there, like a kaleidoscope dancing and projecting light into her body.

She had only one good thing to take from this: at least she didn't have to bother with lying anymore; even when her words delivered a diplomatic answer, her hair and skin would speak with candour. That had helped her select a few friends over the years; not many, because not everyone appreciated honesty.

It was the last Friday of October. Halloween was here with all its strength. The great hall had been decorated and the Halloween feast at Hogwarts was to take place the next day. Molly had spent a fair amount of time in the library, getting ready for her O.W.L.s until she had finally decided that she needed to take a rest. She was not behind her homework yet – which was by itself a miracle – and she would still have some time until her exams; this was all preparation, more than anything.

She packed her books in her common room, put on a scarf and a winter hat, and bundled up. Then she left the castle, walking leisurely. She had seen a few decorated pumpkins around the Quidditch field, left there by the students during that week, and she wanted to contribute for this holiday as well. The pumpkins were all going to be lit up the next day, and Molly was sure it was going to be a memorable spectacle. She even had a design in mind, and she hoped that the caretaker of the forest still had pumpkins available. If not, she could only go to the kitchens and try to get one from the elves; they were usually very friendly towards her and Molly was sure they would be more than glad to help her.

She approached the cabin at the edge of the forbidden forest and knocked on the door three times. She heard almost instantly Mr. Vigil's heavy footsteps crossing the cabin and he opened the door. When he saw Molly his mouth opened in a wide grin.

"Molly!" he almost shouted, "What brings you here? I see you're excited with something!"

This was the sort of conversation that Molly was used to, not only from Mr. Vigil but from all of her close friends. It was difficult to conceal one's intentions when you hair and skin gave you away like that.

She took a look at herself; the small coloured spots on her hands, resembling freckles, showed an almost glowing red.

"Yes," she said, smiling back, "And I had a favour to ask of you," she explained, "Do you have any pumpkins left? I'm planning on leaving one by the Quidditch field."

"Oh, that's going to be a show!" Mr. Vigil said, gesturing with his hands as it was his usual ways, "We are going to light it all up tomorrow! And yes, I do have some more pumpkins. How many do you need?"

"One is enough," Molly answered, her skin going from glowing red to yellow.

Mr. Vigil delivered her a round and perfect pumpkin and Molly thanked him, and walked in the direction of the Quidditch field. There she found the best place available and then she retrieved her wand. For a few minutes she imagined what she wanted it to become and she made circles in the air, conjuring a few carving spells. She paused to take a look at her progression and when she was finally satisfied she stopped. She hoped that she had been able to reproduce what she had envisioned in her mind. She smiled again, noticing the bright yellow spots in her hand and she shrugged. Usually she would make an effort to conceal what she was feeling, to avoid changing colours so often, and she was getting quite good at it; but today she couldn't care less.

She turned around, with the intention to return to the castle, but she was hindered by a troop of people. She knew them well. One was her neighbour, a boy her age who had spent most of his childhood time trying to terrorise Molly; because of her metamorphmagus state, and because she couldn't control her changes, she had to be tutored at home until she was eleven, and was accepted into Hogwarts. That boy, Mark, made her playground times miserable, provoking her and mocking her at each change, making Molly even more conscious of her abnormality. The other two who followed suit, at his heels, were Mark's best friends, a boy and a girl.

Molly sighed, waiting for them to speak.

"Wanted to have your hand at the party, rainbow girl?"

Molly did not react to the words that in their mouths carried the poison of an insult; she kept calm, and focused on keeping her appearance. She didn't want to change colours now but the bright yellow was fading fast to a distinct red.

"She's getting mad at us, look at that. How does that work again? I think I made a list."

Mark removed a piece of parchment from his pocket and started reading, "Red is for anger, yellow is for happiness, blue is for sadness, green is for envy, pink is for love, glowing red is for excitement, orange is for contentment. Should I continue?"

The other two, standing behind him, sneered. One of them, however, pointed in the direction of the pumpkins.

Mark nodded.

"You must have had a lot of trouble with that, look at all the detail. It would be a shame if something was to happen to it."

Molly's colours were changing faster than she could take note. Now, the red was turning quickly into blue, as Mark's words made themselves clear, giving her freckles a strange shade of purple.

"Oh, is she getting sad? She is. Well," he added, "I do hope you have some hidden hue for devastated there."

Mark raised his wand with a swift movement, but a spell came darting out of nowhere. It struck him, hindering his spell, but not avoiding it completely. Mark's curse still struck Molly's pumpkin, destroying it, before his wand flew from his hand, and Mark had to hold on to his wrist, hurt.

"Wha-?"

He barely had time to formulate the question when a shadow appeared from behind the stadium. A dark, lean and tall figure, holding a wand and a threatening look.

"Leave her alone."

Molly looked at her defender with awe. She knew him. In fact, he was in her class. Sherlock Holmes. The cleverest student in her year, probably in the whole school. He didn't really blend; the only known friend he had was a Gryffindor boy, far more sociable than him. He had always intrigued Molly, but she had always been too shy to approach him.

"Or what?" Mark said, still holding on to his wounded wrist.

"Well, stay there and find out, if you're that brave."

Mark measured Sherlock's words; then, he motioned with his head in the direction of his friends, picked up his wand from the ground, and they all turned their back and walked away.

Molly saw them disappearing in the shadows, and then she exhaled. She had been holding her breath without even noticing it.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked. He approached the pumpkins, observing the one Molly had carved so perfectly, now nothing more than just pulp. "I'm sorry about your pumpkin," he said, and he seemed genuinely sorrowful for her.

"It's not important," she reassured.

Sherlock looked at her, and Molly understood straight away what he was seeing: her hair, the freckles on her body, dark blue.

"Maybe it is a bit important," she corrected.

"I am sure Mr. Vigil will be more than glad to get you another pumpkin," he assured.

"Yes," Molly admitted, "I'm sure he will."

Sherlock was now gazing at her, and then he removed something from his pocket, "Here," he said, "It's a potion. I've been developing it for a while, but I can't be sure it works. It is safe, though."

Molly frowned, taking the small flask he was extending her. Their fingers touched by accident, and Molly felt something strange in her stomach. Before she could do anything she was turning bright pink. She looked at her feet, blushing as well, to add to the set of colours that had now painted her emotions on her skin.

She didn't want to look up again, so she cleared up her throat and asked, "What is this?"

"It's meant to control your metamorphose. It won't have any effect on your capability to do it, but it will allow you to restrict it, if you wish."

Molly looked up, bright eyes, "You mean, I'll be able to conceal it if I want to?"

"Hopefully, yes. That's how I developed it, but it needs testing. I didn't have another subject to test it on."

"How long?" Molly asked.

"How long what?"

"For how long have you been developing this?"

"A few months. It's safe, I swear."

Molly was not worried about safety. She trusted him not to poison her, but she was curious.

"Why?"

Sherlock put his hands in his pockets and looked down.

"Because no one should have their emotions exposed like that."

Molly gazed at him for a moment, her colours subsiding again, changing, and then she stared at the potion in her hand.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Then, she removed the small cork from it, and took a sip. The taste was bitter-sweet, and not completely unpleasant.

Sherlock observed her and counted two minutes mentally. Then, he approached.

"May I?" he asked, extending a hand.

Molly blushed again and then she extended her hand as well, her open palm facing up. Sherlock's fingers rested over hers, barely touching.

They both waited, expectant, but Molly's skin and hair stood unchangeable for the first time since she had record. She smiled.

"It works."

Sherlock's eyes were glinting.

"All you need is one dose once a month, I calculated. It shall be enough."

Molly nodded.

"I wish I hadn't given you that now," Sherlock said.

"Why not?" Molly asked.

"I wonder…" and he took a step forward, leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

Molly's hair went pink again and Sherlock smiled.

"I suppose I'll need a more powerful dose if you're going to keep doing that," Molly said.

Sherlock grinned.

"I like your colours. All of them. And unless you oppose to it, I'd very much like to continue doing that."

Molly smiled. She had no intention to oppose to it, and for the first time in her life she felt comfortable in her own colourful skin.


End file.
